


Drink me Under

by banshee_in_the_dark



Series: Lazy Lover Series [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angry Lydia, F/M, Fingerfucking, Hand Job, Jealous Stiles, Jealousy, Mutual Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles sees youthful Derek and Lydia flirting and feels a need to step between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink me Under

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I want to apologize, I should've posted this here weeks ago but totally forgot. If you're on tumblr and follow stydia-fanfiction or me (bansheeinthedark) chances are you already read this instalment, but anyway for those who don't here it is. Again, I'm sorry for the delay. This past month has been insane (I graduated college by the way so yay me) and I hit a bit of a writer's block when it comes to stydia. I blame the show and the terrible writing we've had this season so far :/
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Lydia’s perfectly manicured nails bite into Stiles forearm and, unlike the many times she’s gripped him so tight she left marks on him when they were having sex, he doesn’t get a rush of excitement out of it and he’s not at all happy or smug that she’s doing it.

(Because, you know, those times he was just giving it to her _so good_ she couldn’t help herself and completely lost control. Those times include nail digging, and biting and screaming and a hell of a lot of orgasms.)

It’s probably because she’s decidedly not happy with him right now. In fact, she’s glaringly furious. No one said a word when she grabbed him and dragged him across the gas station to the seedy restroom, for Lydia Martin is hell on wheels on a regular basis but when she’s got a bone to pick with you? She’s fucking terrifying.

(It’s kinda hot actually.)

But none of that matters right now because for every ounce of white fury coursing through her veins, Stiles has it three fold. They just traveled a grand total of five hundred and twenty six miles (with seventy eight more to go), six people piled up on his beat up Jeep, with no functioning radio or AC to speak off. They stopped three times for gas and _fourteen times_ for bathroom breaks. They haven’t slept in two days, he’s on his fifth cup of crappy gas station coffee, which actually tastes like fucking motor oil and he’s pretty sure they could just fill the tank with it and run the remaining miles of their journey on it, it’s that bad. Scott keeps dozing off on the passenger seat so he’s the worst co-pilot ever, and obviously he can’t just send him to the back and get Lydia or one of the other girls to the front to talk to him and keep him alert because there’s no way he’ll fit next to Derek.

De-aged, amnesiac, thinks-they-went-to-TJ-and-drank-so-much-he-can’t-remember-a-thing Derek. Totally-has-the-hots-for- _Lydia_ Derek. The guy has no memory whatsoever of his life after the age of eighteen, but does that stop him from recognizing that Lydia is gorgeous and putting the moves on her, brushing against her and putting her arm across the seat behind her shoulders? No. Dude keeps apologizing with a stupid smile, says he’s just trying to get comfortable and settling closer to Lydia when they’re already fucking pushed against one another, sandwiched as he is between Lydia and Kira. Does he snuggle against Kira? _No_. Does he have hushed down conversations with her that end with her giggling behind her hand? No.

Honestly at this point the only thing keeping Stiles awake is the gnawing urge to kick Derek off the Jeep while it’s still moving and leave him by the side of the road. He can walk all the way back to Beacon Hills for all he cares.

The door of the restroom slams shut behind them and Lydia drops his arm like it burned her, balling her fists at her hips and turning around, glaring. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Stiles snaps.

“Don’t you try to turn this on me,” she narrows her eyes. “You attacked him.”

“He’ll live.”

“That’s not the point!” she pinches the bridge of her nose, turning slightly away from him. He can see the weariness etched on her features. It’s on the braids pinned across her head, messy and crooked and with tendrils of hair falling out. It’s on the slump of her shoulders, on every wince and muffled groan that go with the lolling of her head as she tries to release the tension on her neck. It’s on the boots she left in the Jeep and the flip flops she’s wearing now to accommodate her swollen feet. It’s on the shadows beneath her eyes and the makeup she slapped on yesterday and has now nearly disappeared.

He glances to the mirror above the sink behind her and confirms he looks as dead tired as her, with bloodshot eyes and a five o’clock shadow that itches and annoys the hell out of him.

“Where did you even get the wolfsbane?” Lydia sighs, rising her eyes to his.

Stiles bites back a smug smirk, but if the tightening in Lydia’s jaw is any indication, his attempt was fruitless. “Deaton gave it to me,” he shrugs. She cocks her head to the side, and he caves under her steady glare. “Fine. I broke in and got the contact information of his supplier from his computer and ordered it. I even got free shipping.”

She rolls her eyes. “And you just kept it in the glove compartment where anyone could find it? What if Scott had accidentally been hurt?”

He reels back, arms flailing around him. “It was in a ziplock with the word WOLFSBANE written in red caps, I doubt he’d just open it for shits and giggles. There’s also mountain ash and mistletoe in there too, in case you wanted to rile me about _that_ as well,” he snarls.

“I am ‘riling’ you,” she jabs her finger on the middle of his chest and he tries not to flinch but, damn, that _hurt_. “Because you just blew a handful of poison under Derek’s nose leaving him _unconscious_ for no reason at all!”

“He was flirting with you!”

“He was not,” she huffs, rolling her eyes.

“Lydia,” his tone drops in volume, warningly. “He’s had his arm around you since we crossed the border. I’m not fucking blind, I saw you two whispering and smiling through the rearview mirror.”

She takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “You may not be blind, but you are a moron. We were talking about _you_.”

“Right,” he snorts.

“I was very clear, from the moment he sat next to me and told me he wished he remembered who I was because I was pretty, that I was not interested and that I’m dating you,” the words stumble out of her lips, the fierce fire in her green eyes daring him to contradict her.

Stiles runs a hand through his hair, messing it up more than it already was and pulling at it in frustration. “Then what was that all about? He was all over you. Why didn’t you say something to me when he didn’t back off?”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “He was messing with you, don’t you get it? He could see you glaring daggers at him and apparently you give off a very particular scent when you’re jealous, which he found hilarious.”

She crosses the short distance between them, rests her hand over his beating heart. “There is nothing going on. I wouldn’t let it,” she grimaces, brows knitting in a worried frown. “Don’t you trust me?”

The question knocks the air from his lungs. Of course he trusts her. He loves her. The last two months they’ve been together have been the best of his life, even with all the drama of grieving for a lost friend and scrambling their brains to find Derek. A day doesn’t pass by without Stiles thanking his lucky stars for the opportunity of loving Lydia and showing her how much she means to him.

It’s other people he doesn’t trust.

He cups her cheek, eyes boring into hers. “Of course I do.”

She meets him halfway, lips locking blindingly. Stiles sighs, sneaking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. “I’m sorry,” he breathes against her mouth. “It’s just – these last few days have been so weird.”

Lydia nods, fisting the material of his shirt and walking back until she bumps against the sink. Her tongue darts out, teases the corner of his mouth and sucking in his lower lip. “I miss you. Does that make any sense?”

He understands what she means. They haven’t had a moment to themselves since they got the call from Scott and they left hastily to rescue Derek. Four days may not be a lot but they have been on high alert and dodging threats practically every minute of every day. When he thinks about what could’ve happened to her when he was locked in that bathroom, powerless to do anything, Stiles can’t help to break in a sweat and hug Lydia closer, reassuring himself that she’s all right.

Stiles drinks from her mouth, the pulling of lips and tongues becoming more urgent as the seconds tick by. Lydia splays her palms on his shoulders and propels herself up, propping her butt on the sink and bringing her core flush against his crotch. His fingers tease the sensitive spot behind her knee, hitching her leg up on his hip, hand sneaking up the back of her leg and under her rumpled dress.

Lydia trembles, fisting the lapels of his jacket and shoving it off.

“Here?” Stiles asks, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses on the line of her jaw. Lydia nods, breathing heavily, the short puffs of air tickling his ear. “There are four supernatural creatures with supernatural hearing less than twenty feet away.”

“I don’t care,” her hands expertly unbuckle his belt and make quick work of his pants.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles groans, head falling forward to the crook of her neck, breathing her in as her soft fingers curl around his cock, lightly feeling his length.

Urgency washing over him, he presses his mouth to her chest over the thin material of her dress, cursing the moderately high neckline of the damn thing. He grasps her hips, tight, pulling her to him while she nibbles on his earlobe and jerks him off with slow, precise flicks of her wrist.

Stiles pushes her soaked panties aside, shoving his fingers inside her with no warning. Humming with pleasure, Lydia threads her fingers on the short hairs at the back of his neck, pulling him up for a kiss. Her ankles lock at his lower back and she jerks against him, her walls rhythmically clenching and unclenching around his thrusting fingers, heralding the start of the orgasm about to boil forth.

She moans, the battle of pulling lips and biting teeth stopping abruptly as she gasps against his parted lips. “I want you inside me.”

He’d very much like that too but there’s a problem. “I don’t – I don’t have a condom,” he stutters, frustrated with himself beyond belief.

She actually pouts. “Me neither.”

“It’s okay,” he shushes, hooking his fingers at the end of her channel and rubbing on the bundle of nerves there. She lets out a tiny cry, eyes falling shut, and Stiles allows himself a small smug smile. “It’ll still be good. We’ll have time for that when we get home.”

Lydia mewls, rising sultry eyes to his with a smirk of her own, her strokes becoming more eager and firm. She blindly collects the drop of precum with her thumb and rubs it on lengthy circles over his tip. Need fists at the base of his cock, and Stiles knows he’s not going to last much longer so he doubles his efforts, stimulating her clit and simultaneously driving his fingers in and out of her pussy, creating the sort of friction he knows she loves.

They reach the edge of release quickly, meeting for a mind-numbing kiss. Every inch of their bodies, every breath they share between raw and abused lips cry for fulfillment. Stiles couldn’t tell where he ends and she begins, every draw of his fingers resulted in a flick of her wrist, every frantic kiss came with tensing muscles and knee-buckling desire. Together they tumble through the precipice, mouth locked to drink each other’s scream but eyes open, gazes fixed in their own personal universe and fireworks exploding around them.

They are treated to the very unimpressed collective glare of Scott, Kira and Malia when they make their way back to the Jeep holding hands and with a telling flush coloring their cheeks.

“Are you two done?” Scott deadpans, holding the door open for Kira to climb on the back of the Jeep where an unconscious Derek is splayed on the seat. “I just talked to Deaton,” he says without waiting for an answer. “Said we should take Derek directly to the clinic when we get to Beacon Hills.”

“Cool, we’ll be there in less than two hours,” Stiles smiles brazenly, helping Lydia up.

Scott rolls his eyes and climbs up his seat, carefully shutting the door behind him. Stiles jogs around the Jeep to the driver’s side finding Malia standing there with her back to the car, glowering at him under hooded eyes. Stiles deliberately ignores her scowl, merely opening the door and impatiently waiting for her to get in.

Once he’s at the wheel, Stiles turns around and takes a quick glance at the backseat. Derek is practically comatose and slumped against the side, his body twisted on an awkward angle, with Kira sitting next to him and Lydia on her lap. She blows him a kiss and winks at him, which makes Kira giggle under her breath.

Finally, his eyes flit over to Malia for a fraction of a second, finding her with her face turned to the window, lips pursed in a snarl and pointedly ignoring everyone.

Like he said, it’s other people he doesn’t trust.


End file.
